


I Dare You

by AllLoveIsEqual



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, BoyxBoy, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllLoveIsEqual/pseuds/AllLoveIsEqual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the life he’s lived, Niall’s known to disappointment and grief as his dad has left him and his family and him gradually losing all hope in life. His cynical attitude is derived from his mother, who has never been emotionally stable. It’s only when he is alone he feels most upset and vulnerable, but after these moments he becomes more determined to make the most of the day – even though he knows happiness is not true. In other words, he’s an optimistic pessimist. And things are about to get worse for him.</p><p>Liam Payne is about to walk into his life.</p><p>Or the one where Niall is just a kid whose life sucks and he's just trudging along until Liam comes along and makes it even worse -- or so it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was cold in Niall's room. There were ominous dark clouds looming over the quiet neighbourhood of Panary Avenue, pouring rain down mercilessly. It was pounding against Niall' window, creating a drum beat that was getting louder with every second as the brewing storm outside fervently intensified. Even the heat that radiated from the heater stood to no avail against the leeching chill that took over his tiny attic bedroom.

 

Niall was tucked underneath his green blanket which held a quote in the center of it, a quote Niall would stare at in complete rapture for good minute before taking a heavy sigh and lazily climbing into bed as if the concept of a 'new tomorrow' was filled with dread and a chance of finding happiness was nothing but a fairytale told to realistic teenagers who've realised that society has already stolen their happiness at birth. No, Niall says he isn't cynical; he is realistic and aware -- as he put it. The quote itself was nothing special nor motivational, but it meant a good deal to Niall.

 

"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain."

 

So when he woke up, teeth chattering, body shivering and his mind screaming for him to seek some warmth, he looked at his window and laughed at the forlorn weather outside with the sounds of his laughter melding with the heavy sound of rain pounding against his window.

 

He never wears a shirt or shorts to bed, always only clad in his boxers, and he regretted the idea the moment he climbed out of bed and experienced just how intensely cold his room is. He can feel the chill crawl up his whole body, seeping into his skin and freezing those petite bones that keep his body intact but betray him when it comes to balance.

 

He dashed into bathroom and quickly turned on the shower, he impatiently waited, maintaining body movement by jumping on the spot in an attempt to enclose as much heat as he can inside his body, throwing a finger or two in the shower every now and then to determine whether the water was hot enough for him to enter. He didn't hesitate jumping in once the water reached his desired temperature. A content sigh escapes those little lips, which are rose pink from the cold weather, as the hot water trickles down his lean face and slim body. Niall wasn't fat; but, he wasn't a proprietor of an athletic body, neither. No; he owned a nice flat stomach and good attempts of a bicep. Niall closed his eyes as his fringe drops to his eyes from the weight of the water. It was long and he intended to have a haircut soon and to have his hair re-dyed as his roots -- an earthy brown colour -- were beginning to show. He never liked his hair brown, that's why he always has it dyed blonde but the results always made it look more of an ash-blonde colour. He thought it complimented his blue eyes much more.

 

He also enjoyed showers. The feeling of water against his pale skin and the sounds of water tapping his back or hitting the base of the shower always reminded him of being in the rain. Some kids hate the rain but Niall doesn't: it reminds him that there is always a hidden beauty in the underappreciated. Plus he feels free in the rain, that not everything is about sunshine and happiness and rainbows and love and family days out and good grades and all those mundane and monotonous things Niall perceives to be.

 

The water was hot but it embraced Niall as it fended the cold away from his body. He washed his hair, scrubbing hard and good before continuing to apply soap down his body until it made it smell of a coconut paradise that has him reminiscing of one of the agendas he has on his bucket list: go to Hawaii. ‘Yeah right,’ is all he says whenever he conjured up such fantasy, because his family is so far down the financial pyramid that even a trip to a zoo or a theme park was a struggle.

 

He turned the shower off and quickly hopped out, covering himself with two towels – one for the body and one for the head – before the ice cold fingers of the British weather finds its way back onto him. He returned to his bedroom and turned the lights on, illuminating a made-do bedroom Niall has learned to live in. Blue walls light up on the four sides of his room, littered with posters of his favourite films that ranged from ‘Star Wars’ to ‘21 Jump Street’ and an enlarged picture of Channing Tatum, shirtless and wearing tight, tight trousers that accentuated that not-so-little-bulge growing in the center of it, hung over his bed. It was one of those promotional posters they release in magazines to get people to come watch their film. Not a lot of people knew, but ‘Magic Mike’ was and always will be Niall’s guilty pleasure. There was some sort of enigmatic charisma within Channing Tatum that has him fangirling within a minute of the film. Seeing that slap-worthy, perky, taut ass of his has Niall all flustered and at times he has to contain himself as his Mum enjoys to scrutinize his reactions whenever a hot guy flashes one of their many kissable and delectable features.

 

A simple oak wardrobe sits in the corner of his room, which encompasses a sundry of shirts, jumpers, trousers and jeans Niall owns. He personally favoured black jeans over blue jeans but it seemed that his wardrobe disagrees with him as the ratio between blue to black was quite high. There stood a television latched onto the wall facing the bed so that Niall can lie down and watch TV with ease. Other than that, his bedroom was pretty plain and held a certain atmosphere of isolation that chokes Niall every night before he falls asleep endeavouring to prevent the pool of tears from passing his eyes. But still, every night those rejected tears collect up and build an undeniable weight on his heart which slowly tear him down little-by-little. Despite all he says, Niall is still fragile; he hides behind a façade that he keeps up by telling himself that his dad will certainly return, thus only fueling a false of pretence of hope. Now that hope is slowly destroying him.

 

His dad was a strange case. He loved Niall and his wife; but, for some reason, out of the blue, he decided that him being in the picture would only corrupt the painting and taint it, hiding the beauty that is Maura and Niall – Niall never believed that – and one day, after being fired from his latest job, he told them that he was leaving: he hated dragging them down. Unfortunately, on his drive that night, the weather was cruel and harsh as rain poured like bullets and his car was caught in the gunfire. It was tragic, really. The roads were slippery and a sharp turn led him to a road to death as he swerved too far and the car overturned. A death avoidable if he was wearing his seatbelt – his mind was too clouded and his heart was far too enveloped with a darkness that spewed despair into his very core.

 

Niall was never told, though. He was far too young and was facing enough problems as it was. So, to him, the guy in the car was just another unfortunate soul like him. His mum knew and it hit her hard. Still, for Niall’s sake she hid her sadness and despair behind the closed doors of her bedroom, and reserved her tears and cries for the bed sheets.

 

This was Niall’s life though: a lie. Everyday Niall hopes for his father’s return, that he may rekindle the light inside his heart and cast away the shadows of doubt and fear that’s taken over his body and driven him to become the boy he is now. His optimism comes from the lie his mother fed him that night of his father’s death and it’s a defense mechanism he applies to contain those shadows within him.

 

Even though he is optimistic, he knows just how sucky life is, and how happiness is a dream to him – a gift only a god can call upon him. Ironic, right? But that’s always how Niall functioned.

 

Niall sighed as he pulled out a pair of black jeans and a white long sleeve shirt. They fit him just right – not too tight, not too baggy – and he closed his wardrobe and traipsed over to his bedroom door where a worn out denim jacket hung idly on an iron peg. Niall walked over to the window and opened the window, bringing a melancholy roar of the wind flying into a room and the ballad of the trees fighting against the wind that threatens to knock them over. The room became less stuffy as Niall relinquished in the taste of the stormy air that filled his lungs and detoxed him of all the doubt and sorrow he cried over not too long ago in privacy of his bed.

 

 

Fleetingly closing his eyes, Niall wished for something interesting to happen today. And as he got dressed and opened the door to his room and walked out, holding as much energy and excitement as a man who’s just been told of his execution date, Niall doesn’t know that the storm outside is nothing compared to the storm he’s about to face. And today, the first day of the final term of his high school career, he doesn’t realize that the storm might have just followed him into school after his mum dropped him off, and into his class, and sat on a chair next to the two most popular yet most foulest boys to walk those halls; and that this storm takes the form of Liam Payne.


	2. Double Trouble

“Elizabeth Gregory?” The teacher called out from the front of the room. She raised her tiny head and her eyes perused the classroom through a large set of spectacles.

“Here miss,” A scrawny looking girl in the back of the room called back, raising her hand to indicate she is present.

“Niall Horan?” She asked next.

Niall sat up straight and aloof. “Here Misses Walters,” he proudly said with a charming smile pasted on his face. Miss Walters looks at him and delivers a sweet smile before returning to the register. This act of recognition from a teacher elicits a sense of pride in Niall and it makes the scowls and coughs he gets from the rest of the class meaningless.

As the register was still being called out, Niall returned to his book. It certainly intrigued him, but not because it was well written or he had developed some sort of affiliated relationship with one of the characters, no: it was the fact that the theme and preoccupation of the book was so ludicrous Niall found it laughable.

Of course, the theme centered around love – Niall hates it. It was about a boy, about the age of Niall, and a girl who was way too young to make such high-up decisions. Anyway, their love was forbidden by those who have common sense – cliché alert – and the girl and boy keep up a long distance relationship before the girl says ‘screw it’ and throws everything she has away for the boy, or in her words, ‘The love of my life.’

It was truly revolting, yet slightly hilarious. Niall enjoyed reading it, that’s all that matters. Well, until a commotion in class disrupted his peace.

“Liam Payne?” Miss Walters didn’t skip a second to glare at Liam.

He, however, had to create some sort of unnecessary drama that only fueled his popularity – Niall calls it his idiocy. “Here, un-fucking-fortunately.” He smirks and receives a few sniggers from his classmates while his best friend, Andy, fist bumps the lad.

Niall can’t help but roll his eyes at the stupidity of this idiot and Miss Walters only sighs and shakes her head before continuing like nothing happened. As Niall was about to turn around and get back to his book, he could have sworn that Liam looked at him and gave him a nod of his head with a grin on his face. This only boiled an untapped anger within Niall as he huffed and continued reading. That is, if he can find the focus to read again.

His mind was tainted with Liam; Liam and his earthy brown hair that was styled in a firm quaff; Liam and his mocha eyes that regards with comfort and joy; and, especially that smile he has whenever he’s made an annoying joke or pulled some sort of immature prank on either a student or member of staff.

Okay, Niall admits that Liam is quite an alluring person. He has the looks but owns the ugliest personality: he’s stuck up, obstinate, arrogant, annoying, pretentious and a down right, first grade idiot.

After form room finished, Niall packed his stuff up and rushed out the room, desperately trying to get away from Liam before his mind gets further corrupted. The hallways are crowded and there was a distinct smell of sweat and body odour as the summer heat begins to kick in. Niall fervently pushed his way against the mass crowd of people and made his way to his first lesson: biology. It was actually Niall’s favourite science and the fact that he gets to sit next to his best friend, Harry, makes it all the better but he absolutely despised the teacher.

He got to class with no problem and finds Harry sitting in their usual sit a row behind the front. He sighed in content of seeing his best friend after the half term holiday they just had. Harry raised his head to see Niall coming, instantly the boy smiles and the dimples protrude. Niall ruffles his curly mop of hair and sits down beside him, taking out his books and pencil case.

“Hey Harry,” Niall said, placing his bag down on the floor.

Harry smirked back. “Wassup?”

“Meh,” Niall shrugged, “nothing really.”

“Enjoyed your term break?”

“S’pose, was a bit bored though.”

Harry gave a light chuckle. “Well didn’t you and Zayn get up to any antics?”

The door reopened and in walked their teacher. A tall woman with a stout face which bore a flat smile and gave an emotionless expression. She walked through the classroom, glaring at her students on the way. Niall hated her so much – and she hates him, too. As she passed Harry and Niall’s table she stopped and turned rigidly towards the pair of boys.

“Had a good break, boys?” She inquired with no emotion in her voice.

“Uh… y-yes?” Harry stuttered and the nerves he were feeling made the phrase come out as more a question.

“Yes, Miss,” Niall returned a blank response.

“I hope you both have done your homework, I’d hate to take away half-an-hour of your lunch for this whole term.” She coldly stated, narrowing her eyes. “And for you, Mister Horan, I have 2 synoptic essay assignments for you to do. Please bring it to my desk tomorrow first thing in the morning. Failure to do so will end up with an hour long detention after school for the next two weeks.”

“B-b-but—” Niall complained.

She raised a finger and silenced Niall. “No ‘buts’, Mister Horan.” Then she walked away with a smirk plastered on her wrinkled face.

“I really hate her,” Niall commented, kicking his bag under his chair. However, the sound it made did not go unnoticed as the teacher turned around, raised an eyebrow at Niall and cocked her head as if she was staring at a baby who’s just been caught making a mess.

“Excuse me?” She crossed her arms and tapped her foott on the floor. “Would you like to kick that bag any louder?”

Niall only glared; he wasn’t scared of her—he was annoyed and pissed off.

“You know how much I hate classroom disruptions,” She complained, putting her hands on her forehead before she sighed in exasperation.

‘You haven’t even started the lesson’, Niall thought as the sound of her mundane voice faded into the pool of anger that was building up inside of him.

“Out!” She suddenly exclaimed, pointing her long bony index finger at the door.

Niall looked back at her, shocked. “What!”

“You heard me—Out!” she repeated with more force as saliva spewed out her cracked lips.

Niall looked at Harry who looked just as shocked, he noticed that Harry had his fists clenched and must be reciprocating the same amount of anger he felt for her. Rolling his eyes and sighing in exasperation, Niall picked his bag up and shoved all his stuff back into it.

“You will wait outside my classroom until I tell you to come back in,” she informed Niall as he started his way out the classroom. “Oh,” she added, “and you can forget about your lunchtime today; instead, you can spend it with me. How fun!” she smirked and the sarcasm in her voice made Niall clench his jaw before opening the door and closing it – though he endeavoured to not slam it.

Niall dropped his bag and leaned on the wall next to the door. The only view he had was of the long hallway that leads to the rest of the school. It was deserted as everyone was in their lessons. He closed his eyes and began to calm his breathing. He knew she hated him, but she’s never been that cruel before.

“This is gonna be a great term,” Niall muttered in sarcasm.

Just as he thought things couldn’t get worse, a familiar voice forced him to open his eyes.

“Would you like at that, the prestigious Niall Horan, sent out his class? This is classic!” It was Liam, who had just emerged from the hallway.

Niall groaned. “Go away, Liam.”

Liam cocked his head and smiled. “Why do you hate me so much?”

Niall regarded Liam warily. There was something in the tone of his voice which showed that there was some sort of seriousness in the question; like the fact that Niall dislikes him makes him upset.

“Why does my view on you matter, anyway?” Niall counters, not ready to answer the question. He fleetingly looked back into the classroom to see his class busily watching the teacher explain something on the whiteboard.

Liam hesitated, opening his mouth for a second before closing it again. “You know,” he started, looking at the ground this time, “You don’t know me, Niall.” There was a tone of despair in Liam’s voice and if Niall could see Liam’s eyes, he would have noticed the sorrow in those normally-happy brown eyes of his.

Niall cocked his head at this, confounded by the response. There was a moment of silence in which Niall just watched Liam stare at the ground as if he was waiting for a hole to appear and swallow him. The atmosphere between the two boys was thick and for once, Niall had an urge to go comfort him.

“What do you mean?” Niall asked with a hushed voice.

It was then that Liam raised his eyes again and stared at Niall’s own pair of eyes. Niall’s breath hitched and he couldn’t explain the sudden rapidness of his beating heart. It was like he had just witnessed a little boy lose his mother. He absentmindedly took a step forward but soon realized he’s showing concern and shook his head, taking a step back to his original spot.

“You judge me based on my shell,” Liam explained.

“Shell?” Niall asked, flummoxed.

Liam nodded. “Yes, a shell, a thing I put on to protect me.”

“Protect you from what?”

“From being bullied again.” Liam spoke as if he was reliving a nightmare. His eyes were just wandering with no real sense of direction and purpose 

Niall just stood there, mouth agape as he digested what Liam had just said. There was no way in hell Liam was once a victim to bullying. He’s the most desired boy in this school, and most popular. No one would think twice about crossing paths with him. He was all built, muscly and taut.

“It happened before I moved to this school. I just hated it, you know. I wanted to be the cool kid, hanging out with the popular people, going to parties, staying up late drinking—shit like that.” Liam elucidated.

“Why were you bullied?” Niall inquired.

Liam shook his head. “I don’t want to say.”

Niall opened his mouth to press on further but Liam raised a hand to stop him.

“I’m just saying: you don’t know me, Niall.” Liam turned around and started walking back down the hallway. He took a few steps and stopped, slightly turning his head back, he added, “No one does.”

Liam left after that, and as he turned the corner and left Niall’s sight, all the stunned, wide-eyed, confused boy could do was stare at the emptiness of the hallway.

Could it be true that Niall’s misjudged Liam?

As class finished and everyone left and Harry gave Niall a sympathetic tap on the shoulder and Niall took his seat for detention, there was only one thing clouding his mind.

Liam and those words.

 

‘No one does.’


	3. Beneath the stars and above the world

“I hope you’ve learnt your lesson, Mr Horan. I don’t want this to become a habit, you hear?” Her mundane voice that echoed no emotion drilled inside Niall’s ears and he had to close his eyes, biting, hard, down on his small, thin lips just to contain the raging beast that’s rattling the cages of his ribs.

He nods, eyeing the blue oaken door that would lead him out of this prison of a classroom, keeping his small frame and firm head faced away from the woman with lips twitched into a pesky and smug smirk and arms folded neatly over one another as if she just outsmarted god, with mud-like eyes boring into golden-sun of hair.

Niall walked out the classroom, his whole body tense and filled with anger. Hands curled into tight fists holding an incredible amount of tension it could topple the leaning tower of Pisa with just the tip of his calloused knuckles. Those lapis eyes burned with embers of hatred and teeth still sunk deep into the bruising skin of his candy lips.

He had to stop and lean on a freshly painted blue wall to exert all his stored anger in one loud groan before he continued his way to the lunch hall with only over fifteen minutes left to have said lunch. The roar of chatter and the scent of burnt meat greeted Niall as he approached the large silver doors of the Lunch hall. He walked in, immediately spotting the unmistakable raven black quiff that belonged to his best mate, sitting next to those set of curls that bounce with each playful step of Harry’s one-footed gait. Something eased inside of Niall and a breath filled with relief and joy escaped his mouth.

Niall loved the lunch hall. He was always one for catching the whispers that fly in between two gossiping kids and he enjoyed watching the brutality within the human nature come out and play when two mindless and immature boys act on instinct and pounce each other like polar bears fighting for a mate when a disagreement makes its presence in their conversation. 

It reminded him that not everything in this fragile and cruel world ends with the lie that’s embedded in the minds of growing kids—the lie of a ‘happily ever after’.

That’s the thing you see, from day one, Niall’s life was anything but a happy tale and now he struggles to find that silver lining that’s slithered away from his grasp at the age of ten when his father left without a word.

Happy lips quirked into a smile and coffee eyes hugged the sight of Niall as he approached the messy table, littered with trays that hold half-eaten burgers – composed of plastic-looking beef – and empty cups of light brown chocolate stirred into a mousse like substance. This has always been their table, right next to queue line where students line up and chatter carelessly while caterers lazily slop the daily ‘special’ onto plastic plates that are never cleaned properly as stains of yesterday’s supposedly spaghetti Bolognese embrace the edge of each one.

Niall chose this spot. It gave him easy access to the secrets of the unguarded conversations the students have while lining up. He’s accumulated a few secrets that he holds close just in case he needs them for blackmailing or bribery purposes. I mean, you’ve got to do what you got to do to survive within the barbed walls of High school.

“A’ight mate,” Zayn greeted with one swift wave of his lengthy fingers. “How was alone time with the bitch?”

An exasperated groan escapes the Niall and the rest get the ‘don’t even talk about it’ loud and clear. “So, what’s for lunch?” Niall asked, picking up the half-eaten burger on Harry’s plate and staring at it with baffled eyes as if he was solving the equation to a complicated maths problem.

Harry giggled and slapped the toxic garbage out of Niall’s tiny, pale hands. “It’s meant to be a classic cheeseburger,” he said with the usual roughness to his voice like he’s just got out of bed or a frog has been living in his throat for the past decade or so, “but it taste more like they gave us the cow’s shit instead of its meat, you know.”

They laugh in sync and smooth hands enclosed around Niall’s neck, pulling him gently towards a rigid torso where chapped lips pressed a tender kiss to the middle of his spotless forehead, seeping the familiar warmth of Zayn’s presence into his limestone skin. A warmth that provided safety and protection.

To Niall, Zayn has always been like the bigger brother he never had. His real older one left the family to go and do his own stuff – Niall thinks it was Archaeology – and he stopped visiting after he graduated from University. To Zayn, Niall has always been the timid and reserved boy who holds a thousand secrets and dark stories that need to be told, and he wanted to make sure that Niall knows he will always have his support. Their relationship has never been anything sexual, just platonic kisses and late night films with warm cuddles under freshly washed blankets that smell of field of daisies in the warm summer breeze.

No, Zayn had his eyes set on someone else and Niall… well, Niall has always believed that love sucks – an attitude birthed, once again, by the departure of his father. How could he say those words of love and affection, deliver kisses so tender and mild and take the commitment of being a father to just leave unexpectedly one day. He doesn’t understand it—he doesn’t understand love, but from what he’s seen, it’s a beast that feeds on hopeful people –

But when a pair of caramel eyes and a careless grin walked past his table and settled into a seat next to Zayn, he wondered whether the ‘teach me how to love’ his erratic heart sang was just a hopeful thought caught amidst the heat of the moment. No, Niall held no feeling for the boy with the steep sloped nose, littered with tiny freckles that stand out under the beam of sunlight that funnelled through the small gap of the dirty blinds in that dirty lunch hall, and the so-not-cute crinkles that formed by the side of those tender eyes whenever a hearty laugh pasts those cotton candy lips.

“’Sup, mate,” Liam said with that familiar too cool for school tone of voice he carried wherever he went. Niall’s eyes watched intently as Liam placed rough hands and calloused fingers to the back of Zayn and it takes seconds, minutes or even an hour before he withdrew his hand back to his lap. “I was wondering whether you have a spare of that homework sheet thing Miss Catrell set us?”

Zayn laughed, amusedly, and Niall endeavoured not to glare at him with narrow eyes and furrowed eyebrows that speak ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ “Actually, I might do, Li, hold on a sec.” He replied, quickly picking up his tattered backpack and opening it to rummage through piles of crumpled paper and vandalised textbooks. Niall pressed his lips into a tight line as the new nickname Zayn appointed Liam makes itself known to the table.

The noise of chatter deafened and replaced by the rapid beating of Niall’s heart—not from admiration but anger. He couldn’t even keep his eyes on that excuse of a man as he flashed Zayn another welcoming, lopsided grin. Niall just wants to get up, walk out the door and never see this son-of-a –

“Hey, Niall.” That soft voice resonated inside the shell of Niall’s tiny ears, and Oh, now you have the nerve to speak to me echoes around Niall’s confused mind.

He avoids those puppy eyes and looks at Harry, swiftly sparking up a conversation about football – a topic Harry had no clue about and was fairly terrible at the sport itself. Niall doesn’t miss the huff and slight smirk Liam sported, though. A threat that speaks of ‘if you wanna play, Horan, then game on’ that sends shivers through Niall’s bones and down his ribs and into his conflicted heart.

“Yeah, I really love them Liverpool united,” Harry said as if it was a fact. Everyone turned towards the boy with the goofy grin, flashing those white teeth, with furrowed eyebrows and quizzical eyes and Liam stared while scratching the crevice of his neck, just pass the spot where a caramel splotch of skin lives, a birthmark he owns.

Niall sometimes cannot even fathom why he is even friends with this goofball, but the happy days spent in a park where them two sit crossed leg and count clouds that float by and yell and scare passing children, and the nights where Harry cries endlessly into Niall’s firm shoulders, soaking the material of his shirt until the tears burrow through and touch his shoulders, choking out words of despair and a song of ‘he doesn’t even know I exist, Niall.’ Those are the reasons why he could never let go of those long and large fingers that hold such grip and those emerald eyes that spark life within his very soul. Niall really did love his friends—no matter how goofy, silly and uneducated at football they are.

“Yeah, Harry, I love them, too,” Niall repeated with sense of adoration flicking of his tongue. The sound of Liam’s gentle giggle towards Niall cuts his happiness short and it’s back to evil glares and a stone cold face.

He wonders why Liam is even trying to make an effort in communicating with him. Since day one, the hatred that spewed within Niall’s gut for this wacky, outgoing and sometimes annoying boy was already as strong as it ever was. Liam wonders whether it was the spit balls he constantly fired at him or the playful punches he delivered was the root of Niall’s hatred for him. Honestly, Liam just wanted his attention but Niall thought it was just him being a complete douche.

“Niall,” Liam started with a low voice and open eyes so Niall is staring at the tiny flecks of gold that inhabit his iris, filled with sincerity, “are you okay mate?”

He’s had it. This is too much for Niall as the thump of his heart and the sudden rush of his blood at the sound of Liam’s earnest voice rings the alarm bells that occupy his mind.

“I’m fine,” Niall said, devoid of emotion, “just need some fresh air, yeah?”

He doesn’t wait for Zayn to stop searching his bag and hold out his protective hands to ask where he is going off to, or wait for Harry’s voice to turn all worried and concerned at the possibility of Niall being upset, or wait for Liam to stop him with those bambi eyes that seem so lonely. No, he gets up, ignoring the cries of his stomach for food and walks out the lunch hall.

The halls are quieter and Niall can finally feel his body relax a lot more, regulating his breathing, Niall allowed his feet to carry him somewhere far away from the lunch hall – from Liam – and the repugnant smell of the lunch hall kitchen fades away along with all the anger spawned for an unknown reason.

Niall traipsed lightly down the hallway and turned right just past the science block where students who want extra credit spend their time in overlong lab coats stained by chemicals and pens until he reached the block that gave him solace—the music block.

The green door to the piano room was left a little open – something to do with Niall asking his teacher to do that so he could go off and play the piano or guitar whenever he was bored or upset – and he walked in with lighter steps as he traversed past the threshold and into the brightly coloured room with pastels of blue and red and green and purple slashed around the four walls. A grand piano in sleek black sat at the centre of the room with keys exposed, welcoming Niall’s entrance.

He sat at the comfy leather chair and hovered his fingers above the keys. Niall closed his eyes and allowed his mind to blank, and soon the thoughts of his dad, the thoughts of his bitch-face of a teacher, the conflicting feelings Liam birthed from within him disappeared into a pool of sorrowful melody that Niall so effortlessly created on the piano. His fingers swayed like a prom dress during its big night and a warm grin appeared on his crestfallen face, his eyes still closed—Niall was lost in sweet reverie as each key he pressed released a note of freedom and emancipation that welcomed Niall with open arms –

And as he entered the end of the song, he re-enters his life, calm and relaxed, like he was beneath the stars and above the world, holding down his finger on the last key as if it held the very purpose of his life and it was all on the tip of his finger.

A content smile grew on Niall’s face and he closed the piano case – for now, he’ll open it soon when he needs it again – and turns around to see a figure standing at the door with wide chocolate eyes and smooth lips tugged into a smile, an image he sees when once he brought home a music award to his mum. It was an image of someone in complete awe. Niall’s breath hitched and his fingers began to shake ever so slightly.

“Liam?” Niall called out, his voice shaking at great magnitude.

Liam stepped into the room, maintaining that look as if he was staring at a fallen angel repairing its magnificent pair of wings so that it could fly again, beneath the stars and above the world.

“That was –”

His solemn voice is interrupted by Niall’s groan in disdain for a compliment. He wanted to ask him why he’s here, why he followed him here and why he keeps trying to talk to him but the burning feeling of something great that gnaws at his bones and aches in his heart, chokes his lungs and constricts the words he wants to say in the tightness of his throat.

“Niall, please,” Liam pleaded with his head cocked to the side and mouth parted just slightly, his voice spoke of worry and concern that Niall just brushed off his shoulders like specks of dirt.

Niall wanted to yell a lot of things, the ache getting stronger every second those puppy eyes bore into his very soul, picking out his weak spots and making him so vulnerable he feels pathetic. He just wanted him to stop, to go away; he wanted to run out of here and slam the door on his perfect face that gets him all irked up because now it’s implanted in his mind and it’s been haunting him ever since this morning. He just wants to –

The loud droning noise of the school bell boomed down Niall’s ears and he’s so grateful for it as he bashed past Liam, bumping shoulders, roughly, and speeded down the hallway, ignoring the incessant prodding of that happy feeling inside of him.

He tried to, but the image of Liam staring at him with so much pride is too much that he just can’t.


End file.
